


Inbox

by sudapigrafool



Category: Bandom, Unspecified Fandom
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Drug Addiction, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 21:16:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1362058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sudapigrafool/pseuds/sudapigrafool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Authorship: Polydeuces<br/>A/N: this could be either 30STM or MCR, or whoever (I couldn't decide)  -- it could be Shannon emailing Matt, or Gerard emailing Bert, dunno.<br/>Summary: addictions addictions addictions -- are anything that takes you to the edge. Then, there’s the one who pulls you back again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inbox

From: *-----*  
Subject: Warning! Manic Phase

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’ve probabley figured this out already, but I’m hitting the wall with my manic phasse. (Other wise, why would you be reading this? Why would you even be hearing frm me?) Right on scheduele. I was gonna try to disguise the fact by using my spellchecker, but. why bother? Like, it’s something you wouldn’t know about me.

This time I’m determined not to self-medicate, but it’s rough. I can here Jack calling me from all the way downstairs in the bar. Daniels. You know. I loved that boy. No one ever kept me so warm on a codl night, or opened me up to as many possiblities as ol’ ‘Jack’ did. Well, maybe you. And that’s not even making an exception for those flights with the Grey Goose.

Let’s change the subject.

It’s 2am here. The children are nestled all snug in their heads, while visions and vultures alight by their beds. I, however, am wide awake wondering where you are in the world. Where in the world are you? I would drink to you if you were here. Instead, I think I should drink to you not being here, as you have not been for quite some time now. Only as you know, I have decided to sacrifice my dreams of you to the god Sobriety. For the good of us all, on this continent and the next. Both the quick and the dead.

And I shall fear no evil.

My brother started poking through my things today, trying to be inconspicuous about it. Little brothers are so cute when they are concerned about you and feelimg like it’s time for them to take charge, but there’s that whole thing of the fraternal pecking order getting in tEH WAY.

*oops* damn caps lock.

He looked me over with thosse bright, clever eyes of his and said, "When’s the last time you took a shower?"

(Ah-ha-ha. YOu want details? okay)

"Um, that would have been at the Wolstein, I think."

I let him usheer me into my tiny, pristine hotel bathroom, and watched as he twisted the faucet over the tub releasing a gush of hot spray. Then, he returned to the bedroom and rifled through my overnight bag looking for shampoo and soap. and I could guess what else (Sorry, bro, no secret stash in there either.)

"Get undressed."

Oh, but why should I? I wondered. If I waited long enough, would he try to do it for me? Undress me, I mean?

"Hey, this wasn’t my idea," I said, arms tightly folded across my chest. I was giggling a little defensively by that time. So sure, he thought I was cracked out. No wonder.

"C’mon," he sighed in exasperation, his hands flicking at the buttons on my shirt.

I raised a stubborn eyebrow in his direction. "Make me."

Now, why did I say that? No grown man ever says a thing like taht to another grown man, unless they are brothers and about to revisit their infancy together. His reply was perfunctory.

"Fuck this." Before I could blink he was tugging at my belt buckle and wrestling me out of my too-tight jeans. Being totally no-nonsense about it.

"Stop!" I hollered, doubling over. My hands closed over his wrists like vices, and I could feel us inching towards the physical contest I must have been craving, unaware. I admit, his annoyance was exhilarating.

"You’re tickling," I whined, sounding silly and petulant even to myself. So, I started laughing out loud, kind of desperately, and released my grip.

"Damn it," he hissed. He was in no mood, his hands tore from my grasp and raced to out maneuver me. Suddenly, my barely-there Calvins were being jerked down roughly over my hips, heading for the knot of Diesels still shackled around my ankles. I struggled and clung to him for balance, gasping in protest.

"Take off you fucking clothes!" he ordered. At that point he grabbed me by the shoulders and just shook me. For him, there was absolutely no humor left in the situation, that is, if there had ever been any in the first place. I sank to the cold, tile floor and stripped myself naked. And sat there, inert on my wretched, freezing little butt.

"Get in the shower."

Don’t ask me why I was so determined to thwart him. Perversity. It was a shower, for Chrise sake, not a firing squad. But, I didn’t move. Not fast enough at any rate.

"Do it! Now!" A thrill of fear stabbed at my gut as his fingers clamped down on me so hard I knew it would leave bruises. He hauled me to my feet and thrust me towards the tub.

"Okay! Okay!" I stumbled over the rim and under the cascade of hot water. It felt really good, actually.

He didn’t close the curtain. Instead he stood there lathering his hands with soap letting the water spatter across the front of his tee shirt. In truth, it was one of my old shirts that he was wearing, Buddhist punk. or motley Crue. I forget which.

"Here," he said, thrusting the bar of soap at me. "Wash you face." With that he shoved me around, eyes to the wall, and began massaging his sudsy palms down my back. He didn’t stop when he got to my tailbone either. Nope. He kept going. Very thorough, that brother of mine. Very.

I ducked my face under the shower head and started scrubbing. Everything about me felt sticky and grimy. He was right, I was disgusting. The sting of soap suds crept in around the corners of my eyes making me groan; a sharp, grunting noise that echoed around the sound well of the bathroom. I listened curiously to the feedback of my own vocalizing while the patter and hiss of water filled in a beat and the treble notes, like some funky avant harmony. My brother’s hand slid lower, and I made another sound. If its breathy, rising pitch registered anywhere on his monitor, he ignored it. Instead, he thumped the back of my shoulder impatiently for me to give him back the soap.

Replenished, he lathered down the backs of my thighs. I slid my feet apart on the tub floor, spreading my legs to give him better access. Why fight it, I mean really? He reached in between and did a nice complete job. A little rough, but when he was done I was quite clean I can assure you. Between, below and all the way up the great divide.

I can’t say what he had been thinking or expecting up to that point, but as soon as he turned me around to face him, the hidden agenda became much clearer. So far I’d been able to keep all my givings and misgivings to myself. However. No secrets in my tangled garden now, I was blooming like a rose before him. Something unreadable passed over his expression, but I saw the tight frown on his forehead soften. His gaze wandered over the tile wall behind me and wouldn’t meet my eyes.

"You finish up," he murmured. "I’ll get you a towel."

I took my time. Washing my hair, wishing for my toothbrush for the first time in days. Trying to think, and finally deciding oh hell, why start thinking now? As slowly as I seemed to be moving, my mind was racing, racing. Like the blood in my riled underworld.

Hey, I’m not boring you, man, am I? Still with me? Alright.

While I’d been standing there under the shower spray, searching my soul for a coherent moral value, my brother wandered back out into the bedroom. I wondered why, but when I shut off the water he reappeared with the towel, as promised, and held out his arms to me.

Of course I stepped right up to him. He folded me into a warm, white cocoon, tucking me up against himself, and kept running his hands over me--my hair, my chest--disguising his need, or curiosity, in the act of rubbing me dry. Always keeping the towel’s discrete layer of distance between us. Finally, he came into contact with the troublesome issues of my frontal anatomy that so far he’d been carefully avoiding, and he worked that over too in the same inquisitive, methodical fashion. Rough, soft, teasing, guh. I couldn’t take my eyes off the determined set of his lips, less than an inch away from my own.

When at last it seemed like he’d finished doing with me… _whatever_ the heck this thing was he’d felt the need to do, he suddenly turned and walked out of the bathroom. Without so much as taking another look at me, or saying a single word.

Okay. I blinked and sucked in a breath hoping it would clear my head. But, my head hasn’t been clear for years now. I still needed a minute to myself. My fingers were shaking as I squeezed the tube of toothpaste and tried to brush my teeth. I took forever, hoping I would think of the next thing I was going to say to him about... everything. But like most times recently, my brain was full of static.

Quietly, I stepped out into my darkened hotel bedroom. He’d switched off the lamp and the TV so the only light was coming from behind me, streaming through the bathroom door. I know I’m gonna hate how this next part is bound to come out sounding, but… from spending so much time on stage, I’ve learned a few things about how I look when I’m backlit like that. It’s very showy. I paused for a moment, trying to make the most of it.

Huh. Does that make me seem awfully shallow, do you think? God, I hope not. Not like that, with my own brother. Now I feel a little bad about that part.

He’d taken off all his clothes and laid down on the bed, and there he was, waiting for me. There was just enough light for me to be certain about his state of arousal.

So, there really wasn’t much of anything that needed to be said after all.

I slid across the sheets until I was lying up against him and, I can’t explain it, but instantly I got this awful case of ‘shy guy’. Why, I don’t know, but I couldn’t touch him, not with my hands anyway. A cold-hot flush was spreading itself upward from my belly to my face. I mean, what was that all about? Ten minutes ago I’d been pointing my dick at him like a compass points North, and now.

He was okay with that, though. Somehow, he was as resolved as I was suddenly unresolved. I felt the bed shift and he rolled towards me, and half onto me actually, and my anxious organ settled into the lean muscled space beside his hipbone like it had found its way home. One of his warm hands slid down my back and cupped itself around a butt cheek, pulling me closer. Oooh. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and wriggled my happy little ass. This could work.

Those firm lips that had mesmerized me in the bathroom brushed over my mouth expertly, raining soft kisses. I’d tried to never pay much attention whenever my brother was kissing someone. In fact, I’d sort of made it a practice to look away. So I had no idea. But here we were, working our way up the make-out barometer from tender to demanding to ultimate mouth sex. Down below I felt myself starting to pulse a little uncontrollably as our hips began rolling and sliding in unison. Fitfully, he tossed himself on to his back pulling me along with him. His two hands were clutching at my butt and I could feel his fingers creeping towards an ultra-clean destination he’d already explored pretty thoroughly earlier in the evening. Oh, please, little brother. Any more of that could drive me insane. Yeah that, plus riding the furry tickle of his pubic hair was definitely making me crazy, not to mention very wet. The way I was sucking on his tongue started to turn into something almost vicious. Like, I was committing aggravated oral assault.

He pulled away from me just long enough to breathe and regain a bit of composure. His head dug back into the pillow like he was making a sudden tactical retreat. That's when his arms suddenly released me and his eyes opened wide, roaming over the ceiling. I felt the first flush of panic; didn't even notice his hands digging around beside him in the bedclothes. But then his gaze settled on me again, and I felt his one hand close securely around me -- the part of me that had been poking him in the belly so insistently -- absolutely no hesitation there. Slowly and firmly, he began stroking and petting. His touch was warm and _slick_. Whoa-a-ah . I hadn’t given a single thought to the actual particulars of a sexual encounter, I’d been so caught up in the strange fact that this was my brother I was thinking about having an encounter with, but damned if he hadn’t done some advance planning. I covered his hand with mine and felt the lube oozing out from between his fingers. So that’s what he’d been doing while he left me alone in the bathroom. Guess he found something he’d been looking for in my overnight bag after all.

About then I mustered the will to put my own slippery hand to work. His cock was wicked hard, and thicker than mine by the feel of it. He pumped eagerly into the tight tunnel of my fingers. I was never exactly sure how my brother felt about boy sex, but the rough, guttural sounds he was making told me all I needed to know about how satisfied he was with my uninhibited groping, and that this was not just my one-sided lust affair.

All that remained was to figure out precisely what kind of sex we would be having--hopefully nothing that would scar him for life if this was truly his first time out with a guy.

By then the ongoing, tenacious probing of his other hand in my crack was making me nearly incoherent. One of his slick digits had found my hole and was teasing around it, too timid to slip inside. My hips jerked and thrust at him with a will of their own. Any thoughts of prudent decision-making about techniques and positions seemed like a lost cause, which as it turns out was okay, because without any warning, my brother’s natural instincts suddenly began to take over. He flipped me onto my back again and single-mindedly lunged between my legs.

I wasn’t really prepped, so I wasn’t really ready for him, but on the other hand I was so-o-o so ready for him, y‘know? The wet head of his cock bumped and nudged against me, anxiously seeking its target. I helped him to orient himself until he was able to find the right spot, and he drove it home. I don’t know which of us yelped louder as he slid inside to join with me in my dark place. In a flash of pain and ecstasy I saw our future opening up before us. There was no time to reconsider, though; that moment was long gone. I tossed beneath him in a carnal rage that I can honestly tell you was made of much more than the present moment. And I heard him wail as he came, too; throbbing and rushing inside of me, pushing me over the edge along with him. Intoxicated and intoxicating. Like that momentary, heart-stopping thrill you get the instant after the drug enters your vein.

Afterwards, we lay together, locked in each other’s arms for a long, long while. ‘Til our hearts ceased pounding and I began to feel a chill from lying there naked in the thin gray light. Slowly, he raised a hand and his fingers ghosted over the curve of my cheek. And then, he pulled back a bit to look at me.

There were unspoken questions in his eyes and a kind of turbulence, but he said nothing. What was it that he couldn’t say to me, I wondered, in the last of my starry-eyed afterglow.

For the first time, I thought maybe he was thinking about you, and all the misspent times we’d had together. Like, the occasions when we were too wasted to remember we had an audience. I know now that there were moments when we were perfectly noxious, but at the time I was too far gone to tell. Oh, well. I used to console myself it was for the good of the music. I can remember asking him, "Was it as good for you as it was for me?" after one of our less selfconscious displays.

That must have been the day you realized that, for me, it was not really about "us." And I was forced to confront the fact that I was no longer myself anymore. I'd turned into someone practically recognizable, always howling at the top of my lungs.

And then, it ended really really badly.

So, is that why he had done it? My brother, I mean… is that why he'd come to my room to lie in my bed with me, and help tangle up the sheets. As an act of enlightened self-interest? Maybe he was just trying to protect me and the band by keeping it all in the family this time, so to speak? Though, I found I preferred to think of it in more romantic terms. Like, his love for me had managed to transcend one of those frustrating, limiting boundaries between brothers, and find its own expression. But…

"I don’t want to ask this." His voice was low and almost apologetic. "I hate it that you make me ask this, but are you taking your meds?"

"No."

And I don’t want to go through the whole long drawn out thing again about why not either. I’ll take them when I have to. But it’s not time yet. Not yet.

People don’t get it. Pills are part of my _disease_. How ironic that they are also the guardian angels of my equilibrium. Our Lady of Perpetual Medication.

I’ll know when it’s time.

He mumbled my name into my hair and the bed pillows, along with some other stuff I couldn’t make out. The words were indistinct, but not his sadness. That was very clear to me. He thinks I do these things on purpose, you know, to wage war against his faith in me.

He thinks that’s what you were all about too, I suppose, in the end. About defeating myself in any and every way I could possibly find until it was finally all too much. A last dance with the devil. I surprised myself, though -- coming back from the dead the way I did.

I surprised him, too, I think, by being that strong. But he still worries.

God, this has been the longest night. And this really isn’t what I started out wanting to talk to you about at all.

So, more to the present point… how are you finding it, working with SDC again these days? Eh? Ha ha. Some things never really change, I imagine.

Well. You’ll kiss all the boys for me, won' cha?

I can’t say that it wasn’t [sur]real.

\- *-----*


End file.
